


my heart has turned to wax, it has melted within me

by seventymilestobabylon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, M/M, is "sexpilogue" a thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16490831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventymilestobabylon/pseuds/seventymilestobabylon
Summary: anxious sex epilogue to "One to Speak, Another to Hear"





	my heart has turned to wax, it has melted within me

Remus has lived his life in the past tense, always circling back to the things he wishes he could take back. The bite. Falling in love with a traitor. Abandoning an innocent man.

Now he is alive and present in a way that he cannot understand. Now he is being kissed hungry and deep; now Sirius’s fingers are undoing the buttons of his robe and sliding cold hands over the cloth of his undershirt. He is all sensation and desperation, all want and hunger. His body thrums to the frequency of the sound Sirius makes when he licks into the shell of Sirius’s ear.

(It cannot be real; it will be taken from him.)

He kisses Sirius’s ear, the soft place behind it. Sirius takes a fistful of his hair and pulls him back by it to bring their mouths back together. The dash of pain that gives shape to pleasure is familiar, but the rest is impossibly strange. In all the years that he has thought of kissing Sirius Black, he has never imagined it like this. He has imagined Sirius careless: _All right, if you want, then, Moony,_ perhaps a long-fingered hand holding his head still.

He shudders against Sirius. They are both very hard.

“Come, come on,” he whispers, not very coherent. “Upstairs, yeah?”

He has never imagined leading Sirius up a staircase by the hand, being pushed against the wall halfway up to be kissed again. Sirius slides his hands up Remus’s chest so that his robe slithers off one shoulder. Sirius lets go his mouth and smiles at him when Remus catches at his robe to stop it falling. Shaken, Remus bites hard on his lower lip and precedes Sirius up the stairs, into his bedroom.

When he has dreamed of this, he has not thought of tenderness. Sirius pushes him backward onto the bed and crawls over him, yes, he’s had a fair few years to picture it like that, but, but. But Sirius smiles down at him again, fond, _fond,_ and possessive and possessive and fond. He waits for Sirius to throw his robe and undershirt aside; he pulls Sirius down, and they kiss until Remus’s vision blurs, until Sirius is panting and writhing against him, choking out his name like a prayer. He has never imagined Sirius hungry for him. Sirius Black, who flicked a careless wink at girls in Potions. Sirius Black and his Azkaban-dark eyes, Sirius Black who was lost and gone for twelve years, _twelve years._

Remus draws a breath in. A gasp. It is not possible; he cannot have this. He says, “Pads, Sirius, I don’t think—”

“Don’t think.” Sirius strokes his cheek with the back of his fingers, fingers that are shaking. “You always go away from me once you’ve had a minute to think so—don’t, all right?”

His voice is like bone china, lovely in its exactitude and fragility. Remus imagines holding Sirius in the palm of his hand, closing his hand, crushing him to fragments. He flinches at the idea of it. He cannot remember how they got to his bed; he does not know how to live inside of a body that can feel this way. He is watching a photograph from very far away, of two people who want each other, and one of them is supposed to be him.

“I don’t take off my shirt,” he says. At least he supposes that it must be him who says it. He always says it when he is going to have sex. But the voice that says the words is cold and categorical, so it cannot be his. He would not speak that way to Sirius, if he were lucky enough, if Sirius ever wanted, he wouldn’t, he _wouldn’t._

With a puff of a sigh, Sirius rolls off of him. They lie side by side on their backs. Sirius’s hand—warm, now, from where they have been touching each other—finds its way into Remus’s.

He has spoiled it, then. He is not surprised.

“What happened,” says Sirius. 

Remus prevents himself, barely, from clenching his fingers. “What d’you mean?”

“I know you don’t take off your fucking shirt.”

“I just—”

“Are you.” Sirius’s voice catches. He is hurt; Remus has hurt him. That this is possible is a truth Remus’s mind struggles to accommodate. “Are you here with me.”

They have known each other two-thirds of their lifetimes, and Remus is still surprised at how easily Sirius can read him. He says, with as much honesty as he can manage, “I’m trying to be.”

Sirius nods, and asks again, “What happened?”

“I don’t know how to explain it.” This is true. He has never tried to describe, as nobody has cared enough to ask and he certainly hasn’t, the sensation that his mind has come unmoored from his body. “It’s like—I go a bit floaty, sometimes. Not in a nice way.”

“No,” Sirius agrees. “Did I do something that—”

“ _No._ ”

“What were you thinking of?”

Oh, yes. Sirius told him not to think, and he thought, and it spoiled everything. “Dunno.”

“Liar.”

Remus makes a face. “I was imagining that you were a china figurine, and I was smashing you. I’m not—you surprised me. I haven’t exactly adjusted to—this. I think stupid things, I think loads of stupid things. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Moony, fuck’s sake.” Sirius rolls up on his side. “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to tell me. I don’t want you to treat me like a stranger.”

What can he say? In so many ways, Sirius is more of a stranger now than he was the first day they met. That first day on the train, Remus recognized him and knew him at once, as if they shared a brain. Now there are years and betrayals that separate them. “I’m sorry,” he says again, helplessly.

“Is it me you want to be here with?”

Shocked out of himself, Remus looks up at Sirius. He must be a little wild-eyed, because Sirius laughs and kisses his nose.

“All right, I wanted to ask. I’m a little—” Sirius tilts his head down, rests his forehead against Remus’s chest, presses closer. Remus can feel Sirius’s prick, hard against his leg. He shifts a little, giving Sirius the barest suggestion of friction, and Sirius lets out a stifled, desperate moan.

Remus likes it, the moan and the stifling. He moves again, the same way, pushing the side of his thigh between Sirius’s legs. Sirius whispers, “Remus, God, Remus—” and they are kissing again, Sirius lying half on top of him, rutting into each other like teenagers. He will not last, like this or any other way, he can feel the ache of impending release. After all this time, after all these years.

“Just,” he says, and he shoves Sirius’s pants down, and his own, and wraps his hand around both of them.

He will not forget if he lives a hundred more years. The stars might go black and he will still remember. How it feels to claw his fingers into Sirius’s back, the rush of satisfaction and arousal when he feels the answering shudder. His shirt wet where Sirius has sucked at his nipples, and wet when Sirius cries out his name and comes messily all over him. He comes not long after, his back arching so sharply it twinges.

He will not forget, he never will.

Evidently Sirius does not become sleepy after orgasm. He picks his head up almost immediately and says brightly, “Eurgh, I’ve gotten you filthy.”

It’s an aftershock, maybe, the spasm that runs through him when Sirius says this. “I shouldn’t have, er,” Remus says, gesturing at his stomach. He tries not to imagine Sirius trailing a finger through it, licking it away.

They can do this again, he thinks.

Sirius rolls off him and props himself up on his elbows. His eyes are bright; he is disgustingly energetic. “Shouldn’t have?” he repeats.

“I rushed you,” says Remus. “I meant to—” Next time, he wants to say. Next time I’ll make it good. Next time it will be slow and languid; I’ll memorize your body, taste every inch of your skin, until you’re begging to be inside me. He wants to say it, but it is too vast and terrifying a wish to give voice to.

Sirius is making the face he makes when things have become too sincere for his comfort, so Remus supposes that he has betrayed his own neediness, anyway. He can never keep secrets from Sirius. Sirius says, lightly, “Well. Nothing to compare against, so.”

“Yes,” agrees Remus, before his mind catches up to his mouth. He turns his head sharply and finds Sirius watching him, his whole body held tense. “What?”

“I thought you,” says Sirius. He squares his jaw. “Might be able to tell. Or.”

“I didn’t—I—” Remus is too flabbergasted to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. He cradles his right hand against the back of Sirius’s head, twisting strands of hair between his fingers. “Of course I couldn’t tell.”

Sirius smiles and kisses his shoulder. “All right, then.”

Remus wants to ask, _How?_ but even in his damp, groggy state, he can see that would be tactless, especially when most of the answer is _Azkaban._ Suddenly chilled, he rolls himself off the bed and fishes in his chest of drawers for a clean shirt. He whips off the dirty one and throws it in the corner, keeping his back to Sirius. Struggles the new one back on. When he turns around, Sirius is watching him with lazy interest.

“What?” he says.

“Nothing,” says Sirius. “Come back to bed, I want to hold you.” His voice is the imperious one that Remus has hated in the past. Now he cannot stop wanting things, imagined futures, Sirius’s cock in his mouth while that certain, imperious voice urges him on. _Like that, take it, yes—_

Shivering from the cool air, and from want, he crawls back into bed and folds himself into Sirius’s arms.

* * *

They have slept and talked and wept, and Remus cannot force his mouth to say _I love you too,_ and Sirius makes it impossible to say anything coherent, anyway, by nuzzling his cheek tender-filthy into Remus’s hardening cock. Remus closes his eyes against everything he feels, closes his hand around the nape of Sirius’s neck.

“Mm,” hums Sirius. His mouth is close enough that the buzz of the sound transmits through the fabric of Remus’s clothing.

“Sorry,” Remus whispers, “sorry, sorry.”

Sirius rolls slightly and looks up, his head resting in the cradle of Remus’s thighs. _Don’t leave me, please never go,_ thinks Remus hopelessly. “Sorry,” he says again.

“Are you,” says Sirius. “What for?”

“Your—” Sirius tilts his head back and forward again, rubbing against Remus’s hard-on, and he loses his words for a moment. He cannot tell if Sirius is doing it on purpose. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sirius nods again. It makes Remus’s breath catch. He traces a finger along the line of Sirius’s bottom lip.

“I thought I might suck your cock,” says Sirius, very casual.

Remus whispers, “Oh, God.”

“Do you like that, darling.” Sirius turns his head to brush his lips up and down the fabric that covers Remus’s prick. “Have you thought of it before, me doing this?”

Yes. God, yes, and hated himself for it. “You don’t have to,” he says. “If—oh, God, Sirius.”

This because Sirius has taken his cock out and is rubbing his thumb in small, careful circles against the underside. It feels like heaven. Those dark eyes heavy with intent. “Do you mean you don’t want me to, or do you mean because I haven’t—” He wets his lips and looks up to Remus for reassurance. “You would have to tell me,” he says, “how to make it good.”

“You couldn’t, it could never—” Remus cups Sirius’s cheek, Sirius his lover, Sirius who loves him. “It couldn’t not be good. You don’t have to.”

Sirius tuts impatiently. He has always hated being the one who doesn’t know things. “Don’t be stupid, you’re not making me do anything. I want, I’ve thought about, fuck, I always _always,_ bloody years now I’ve wanted—” Impatient, proving a point, he licks where his thumb has been circling, and Remus chokes out something incoherent that makes Sirius smile.

“All right,” Remus says, breathless. “All right. You—you can—like kissing, the top bit.”

Sirius arches a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“To start,” says Remus. As Sirius turns his face to Remus’s prick, Remus catches his chin and makes their eyes meet. “And you can stop, all right? Any time it’s not, not—good, or if you don’t like it, then you should stop straight away.”

Sirius gives a displeased “hm” and devotes himself to his task. He’s clumsy, not the best Remus has had, except it is Sirius Black’s head in his lap, Sirius’s mouth wet and hungry, Sirius’s hands on his skin, thumbs pressing into the meat of Remus’s arse. “Please,” he gasps, “please.”

With a small slurp, Sirius pulls off of his cock and tilts his head up, smiling. His lips are red and wet, God, he _looks_ like he has been sucking cock, he looks like he has been reveling in it. “I like it when you beg,” he says, and in that imperious voice, “Beg me for more, Remus.”

“Please,” Remus hisses, rolling his hips up, desperate, “Sirius, please, please, give me more, I need your mouth, _please,_ it’s so good with you, just please, please—”

Sirius laughs and tries to take Remus’s cock into his mouth. He gags and sputters and backs off, and Remus wants to laugh with him but he wants even more to come in Sirius’s mouth; the idea of it is all-consuming.

“Is there a trick to this?” says Sirius. His cheeks have gone red. Remus loves him so much.

“Your—your hand,” Remus manages. “Wanking. At the same time.”

As explanations go, it’s not particularly coherent, but Sirius gets the point and wraps his hand around the base of Remus’s dick and his mouth around the rest of it. Remus thinks he would have begged anyway, whether Sirius had ordered him to or not. Some time later, he hears himself say, _You’re everything._ How naked the truth sounds.

Sirius takes his mouth away again and says, “You can come in my mouth if you want to, darling,” but he doesn’t stop moving his hand when he says it, and Remus comes helplessly and hard, the force of it curving him over Sirius’s body.

Lightly, Sirius throws himself off the bed and wanders into the loo. He comes back with a wet cloth and looks uncertainly down at Remus. “I thought,” he says.

_I love you,_ Remus thinks. “Come here and kiss me, first.”

“I’ll come and kiss you second, and then I won’t have to get up again.” Remus can’t argue with that logic, nor the gentleness with which Sirius cleans him up, dropping kisses onto Remus’s thighs and stomach as he goes.

When they are settled back into bed, finally, Remus reaches down, between Sirius’s legs, but Sirius pulls away. “Too soon,” he explains. Remus’s surprise must show on his face, because Sirius laughs. “I—when you were asleep. I got up for the loo and when I came back you looked—” He laughs again. He has a beautiful laugh. “You’re a bit—distracting. I had a wank in the shower, thinking of you. This. Sorry.”

Remus laughs too, as much at the idea of himself being distractingly attractive as anything else. He cannot remember ever feeling this happy.

“Typical Sirius Black,” he says, “perfect at everything on the first go.”

He can feel Sirius smile against his neck. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I don’t,” he agrees.

“You’re fucking sexy, have you been told?”

“Yes, all the time.” Remus intends his sarcasm for himself, but Sirius winces a little. “No, I meant—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t mean—I meant nobody thinks I’m sexy. That’s not, er, really the value of me.”

Sirius bites his collarbone lightly. “Fuck off, everything’s the value of you. I don’t mind that you’re more, that you’ve been with—”

That stings. “It wouldn’t change anything if you did mind. I’ve fucked who I’ve fucked.”

For a moment they lie in silence, the moment dimmed. “I meant,” says Sirius at last, “that I mind knowing you’ve been with people who didn’t see you properly.”

It is a shamingly generous thing to say. If their positions were reversed, Remus doesn’t think he could be so generous. As it is, he feels achingly glad that he is the only one to have seen Sirius come apart, the only one Sirius has kissed and stroked and sucked to orgasm. He doesn’t want to share him.

It must be late by now; the room is very dark. Remus is light as air. He is poured out like water.


End file.
